


You'll Be My Star

by frost_belle



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, Ice Cream Parlors, IronDad and SpiderSon, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, M/M, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Someone stop me, Teen!Loki, Thor is not a Good Bro, Trigger Warning: Alcohol, break dancer!peter parker, frigga needs a hug too, im sorry my babies need a hug, oh boy its 4:30 am, peter scoops ice cream at tony's candy shop/bakery, skater boy!loki, skater boy/street dancer au, trigger warning: depression and suicidal thoughts, trigger warning: domestic abuse, you'd be doing the lord's work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 04:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19986460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frost_belle/pseuds/frost_belle
Summary: Peter Parker wished he could go back to being himself: a fun loving, street-dancing teen with dreams to compete in the Junior Juste Debout. But after Ben's death, Peter's passion becomes an uncomfortable reminder of the mistake that cost his uncle his life.If there was one thing Loki was good at, it’d be reminding everyone that he was himself; first, last, and always. His silver tongue was quick to put bigoted pigs in their place. And if words weren’t the aggressor… well, Loki could take a beating. He had all the discount codes from Ulta, and he was an expert at applying concealer by now.After a chance encounter, Peter and Loki find a light in each other they didn't know they were searching for. Together, the two teens forge their way through the dark times. As long as they had each other, the stars would shine bright enough to guide them to the future.[Discontinued]





	You'll Be My Star

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first fic on ao3 and I'm super excited for this AU! This was supposed to be a one shot, but, see, a combination of too many ideas and discord friends egging me on resulted in this soon-to-be behemoth of a fic.
> 
> Many thanks to my irl friend who beta'd this. You're a life saver. Sorry for keeping you awake until 5 am.
> 
> Enjoy!

The city air was foul.

Peter couldn’t decide which aspect of New York’s air was the worst. It was too hot, especially for early May, and entirely too thick with humidity, which clung to his skin and caused him to prickle with sweat as he walked. The sun wasn’t even out; the heat was almost suffocating during the day. Peter loathed to think about what the upcoming summer would feel like.

It also smelled, like car exhaust and cigarettes, like beer, piss, and garbage. Every so often, Peter would pass a group of kids vaping, or rolling blunts, and cover his nose with his sweatshirt. Although they mostly kept out of his away, his eyes darted around, remaining vigilant in case any high idiots wanted to mess with him.

Peter sighed as he saw the gates of the skate park approaching. Even if the stench of weed was stronger within the borders of the park, it could claim to be something the streets never would:  _ quiet _ . 

A large sign bolted to the fence declared that the Norman Skate Park was open from ten a.m. to nine p.m. Peter slid the hand clutching his phone out of his pocket and flicked his wrist so that the display lit up. The screen flashed  _ 12:07 _ a.m. The master locks holding the gate closed assured Peter he was not welcome there.

However, the teen didn’t particularly care if the park wanted to keep him out. Not sparing a backwards glance to see if anyone was watching, he hooked the toe of his shoe between the wrought iron bars, stretching his arm up to one of the cross beams offering the fence structural support. Coincidentally, the same beam offered Peter the ability to climb over the fence.

Pushing off with the leg still on the ground, he swung his weight upwards, then over the top of the fence. Peter exhaled slowly before gingerly laying on the blunt spears that served as a deterrent to people like him who wanted to enter the park after hours. They were spaced out wide enough that only three pushed into his ribcage, the rest simply pressing into the soft flesh of his belly. Leaning towards the side that was over the fence, Peter let his leg limply fall until it caught another cross beam, then maneuvered his other leg to the same position. He was upright now. Peter let go of the fence and landed in a crouch, before standing up and brushing off his hands.

The stadium lights were, blissfully, not motion sensitive, meaning they wouldn’t draw attention to Peter’s exact location. Nonetheless, they were still shrouding the park with blinding white light, so the teen stuck to the shadows as he made his way to the benches overlooking the concrete pool. 

The benches were a good place for introspection. They were about a hundred yards from the park entrance, and were home to the only greenery in the midst of a slate grey jungle. Two determined trees had their roots planted on either side, providing the cover and sense of tranquility Peter desired.

He planted himself in the soft grass, back-to-back with the wooden seat so no one would be able to see him. A weak gust of wind blew through the trees, causing white petals to dust his hair and lap. Peter rested his head on his out hands.

This was nice. The park was significantly quieter than the streets he’d been wandering for the past hour, and even his apartment was louder despite its walls. Peter supposed that may have had something to do with angry screaming in his brain that started whenever he saw the constant reminders of his uncle, ever present in his childhood home.

Peter rubbed his eyes as he slouched lower. In this heat, he was sure he wouldn’t freeze to death if he fell asleep, and between the lush grass and his sweatshirt, he was sure he could find a comfortable position. 

It was Friday, and Peter barely slept an hour all week. He “got up” for school at six a.m., went to work at four p.m., and got home around ten. With all the classes Peter had loaded onto his schedule, his nightly assignments amounted to around seven hours of work. By five a.m. there was no point in sleeping, right? 

Not that he would have slept anyway.

Sighing, Peter curled into a fetal position, wrapping his arms tightly around his thighs as he squeezed his eyes shut. If he couldn’t sleep on his own volition, maybe sheer and utter exhaustion would do the trick.

As he drifted off, Peter tried to ignore the thoughts flashing through his mind. They were fleeting, barely there for a second, but that was long enough for the words to burn themselves into his retinas so that he could obsess over them for days to come. 

_ Look at you, sleeping on the streets, _ Peter’s mind supplied.  _ Just like Ben said you would if you didn’t pull yourself together. _

_ You’re failing school, you’ll never get into MIT, and now you’ve given up the one thing that could have maybe helped you stand out in the world. _

_ Your life is falling apart! Congratulations, this is all your fault. _

Okay, that was enough of that. Peter jerked upright, moving so that he was sitting with his legs open and his weight resting on the palms of his hands.

No sleep, then. He got the message, loud and clear.

Peter wondered what he could do to pass the time. He’d told May he was sleeping over at Ned’s house, so, really, he could do whatever he wanted. Peter felt bad about lying to his aunt, but he would feel worse if he stayed out all night without telling her anything. May would probably have a heart attack and call the cops, and Peter really did not need for his freedom to be restricted in the aftermath of that debacle.

The teen considered shuffling a bit to the right so that his back was no longer against the bench. With the open area, he could kickflip himself upright then hop for a few feet, and he’d be on the open concrete again. Maybe he could brush up on his backhanded springs to backflips for an hour or so. It had been six months since Peter last tried any break dancing moves, and he sorely needed the practice. 

The problem was, Peter could find no reason to try. His seventeenth birthday was in three months, and there was no way he would get himself back in the breaking game in time to qualify for the Junior Juste Debout. And how would he pay for a plane ticket to France, anyway? Peter was barely picking up where May’s salary fell short, where Ben would have taken over, and that was only because of Mr. Stark’s generosity.

There was no need for him to continue his stupid hobby, not when everything was crashing and burning, not when his dancing was the  _ reason  _ everything was crashing and burning. If Peter could just go to sleep, get his grades up, and get a scholarship to some mediocre engineering school, maybe he could pick up the flaming pieces and use them to collage himself a nice, middle-class life.

As he pulled his arms over his face to muffle a scream, Peter heard quiet footsteps steadily drawing closer. Shit.

Going limp in a weak attempt to appear asleep, Peter let out a long stream of mental curses. Of course he had to get caught. Peter prayed to whatever gods were out there that whoever found him would just assume he’d been skating near the closing time and drifted off by accident. Hopefully they weren’t the police, and he didn’t have to go home in a cop car or wait for May to disappointedly pick him up from a holding cell. 

The footfall came to a stop a few feet away from Peter. Whoever was there crouched down and tapped him on the wrist. “I know you’re not asleep.”

Shit. He didn’t even have a fighting chance before he was busted. With a pained expression, Peter cracked open the eye closest to his impending doom.

The first thing Peter noticed was that the guy before him wasn’t a cop. In fact, he looked like he regularly ran from the police. His face was angular but his eyes were young, an alarming shade of green that spoke of energy and life. 

Those eyes seemed even brighter against the dark makeup the guy had lined them with. His lips were a similar shade of black, as was the chin length, slightly curly hair, parted to one side so that it fell across his face. All of the dark features accented the pale color of his skin, Peter thought. 

“Um,” Peter began.

“Nice to see another delinquent disregarding the nine p.m. closing time,” the other teen cut him off, pointing to one of the skate park’s signs with his thumb. 

“Yeaaaah,” Peter agreed, watching the guy set down a black skateboard from its perch on his shoulder. It had a pretty wicked snake painted in green decorating the bottom.

“Glad to make your acquaintance…?”

“It’s Peter.”

The other guy smiled, which made his eyes seem impossibly brighter. “Loki.”

Peter blinked, pausing his absent fiddling with his piercing as he studied the person before him.  _ Loki _ . Peter narrowed his eyes.

“I’ve heard about you,” Peter said, cautiously. “You broke the heir to Latveria Enterprises’ nose.”

Loki’s ink-colored grin sharpened. “Victor had what was coming to him. He insulted my mother.”

Well, Peter couldn’t fault him for that. He’d happily punch anyone who dared to disrespect May. Not that May couldn’t hold her own. Because she definitely could and  _ would  _ wield the nearest object as a formidable weapon, should anyone threaten her family.

Still, it couldn’t help to be too careful around a guy Peter knew only as the rowdy, short tempered kid who drove a mean hook into Victor von Doom’s face, disregarding any consequences. Not that there had been any, when Loki’s dad was of old money.

“Why are you in Queens?” Peter asked with an eyebrow raised. “Don’t you, like, live on the Upper East Side?”

Loki chuckled. His black-painted fingers were spinning the wheels of his skateboard. “Why are you here? I don’t suppose you live in this skate park, do you?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t, but at least I live in this borough. It’s one a.m. and you’re a good fifteen miles from whatever posh brownstone you call home. My question is valid.”

“And so is mine”, Loki retorted with a smirk. “However, if you must know, I was at a party near here. Soon enough, everyone was drunk and making fools of themselves, and I, being the only sane and sober person in the building, decided the best course of action was to dip out of there.”

“...How exactly are you going to get home?”

Loki pat his skateboard. 

Peter let out a long-suffering sigh. He’d known Loki for about ten minutes and the guy was already a handful. “I hope you know you’re insane.” 

“I’m not the only one camped out in a skate park at one a.m.”

Well. Touche. Peter let out a noncommittal hum in response. After a beat, he gestured to Loki’s skateboard, extending his motion to encompass the concrete bowl before them.

“Were you gonna skate or anything?”

Loki shrugged. “I kind of just came here because it was  _ supposed _ to be abandoned. I wanted some peace and quiet.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

The green-eyed teen grinned. “Why would I be disappointed, when I got to meet a snarky, sleep deprived person such as yourself?”

“Ha, ha.”

“You’re proving my point perfectly, my dear.”

Once again, Peter narrowed his eyes at his companion, but Loki was looking away from him, running a hand through his dark curls. 

Loki wore a black Nirvana t-shirt that hung loosely on his frame. His black jeans were baggy and ripped with holes so wide, Peter could see the fishnet leggings peeking out from underneath. His unlaced Chuck Taylors were battered in a way that was truly aesthetically pleasing, although Peter was slightly envious of the shoes. They were a lot classier than his new-looking Vans. 

“What,” Loki began in a measured voice, “were you doing here, anyway? Because if you live around here, I’d think a bed would be a lot more comfortable than petal-covered grass in the middle of a concrete skateboarding park.”

“You’d be surprised,” Peter replied.

Loki scoffed. “Scratch that, I know from experience that beds are far nicer than dirt and earth. There are mosquitos out here.”

Peter sighed. Apparently he was going to have to accept frequent sighing as part of interacting with the mercurial figure at his side. “I was dancing,” Peter lied, averting his eyes. “I break dance sometimes. I was just taking a rest when you found me, but I was worried you were the police coming to lock me up for trespassing.”

Well, it wasn’t a complete lie, was it? Peter had thought about breaking, and that had to count for something. Besides, what Loki didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

By the way his green eyes shone with interest, Loki believed him. “Really? You should show me.”

Ah, fuck, that wasn’t supposed to happen. Peter hoped his flinch wasn’t obvious. “Nah man, I think I, uh, pulled a muscle landing a flip, or something.”

Loki pouted. “Aw.”

Peter attempted a sympathetic smile, although it felt more like a grimace. 

“Well, the next time you’re up to breaking laws or breaking in general, give me a call,” Loki said, seemingly oblivious to his malfunctioning smile and pulling a black Sharpie from his right pocket. 

Peter watched, slightly surprised. “You keep a Sharpie with you all the time?” 

Loki huffed a breath and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “It’s helpful if I chip my nails and need a quick fix.” 

The green-eyed teen then gently grabbed Peter’s arm, pushed up his sleeve, and jotted down his number in a bold, angular scrawl. 

“Do try to put that into your contacts before it washes off,” Loki said with a wink. Then he pushed himself upright and hoisted his skateboard over his shoulder. 

“I should go,” he yawned. “Like you so thoughtfully articulated, it’s very late and I should get home.”

“Oh,” Peter said eloquently. He didn’t know what to make of the disappointment lapping up his insides as he watched Loki saunter down the side of the bowl. He was in full view under the stadium lights, but apparently Loki didn’t care if he was caught. He could probably afford it. 

“It was nice to meet you!” He called, confused at the slight wavering of his voice. Loki turned around to mime the ‘call me’ motion, and then he was sliding his skateboard under the wrought iron fence. Peter watched him climb to the other side, and waved deftly at Loki’s retreating form.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Thank you for reading :D No idea when the next update will be up, but I'll try my best to get in a chapter a week. See y'all next time <3


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